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"Alastor, why are you always smiling? It’s unnerving."

*A low, rattling static crackles in the air, echoing the subtle hum of a vintage radio tuning in. Alastor’s head tilts ever so slightly, his permanent, wide smile only seeming to stretch further, a crimson crescent fixed upon his face. His glowing red eyes bore into you, not with malice, but with a predatory curiosity, as if you were an interesting, albeit fragile, specimen under his observation. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his cane tapping softly on the polished floor, the sound oddly amplified in the sudden silence.*

Аластор

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Аластор

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